


Sit Down For A Spell

by werewolfkeeper



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Elements, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfkeeper/pseuds/werewolfkeeper
Summary: "With no delusions of reconnaissance, the lieutenant and his short-lived troop came back to the theatre and found it a burnt husk, a mere ghost of itself.  (Nothing like it is today, but its complete restoration is, of course, another story.)  To the lessers with him, it seemed obvious that the mission had already failed, but Lieutenant Raine swore to recover his remaining men, even if remains were all he found."





	Sit Down For A Spell

**Author's Note:**

> _the fire was all that was left, all that's left of you_

Believe me when I say that the mirror fell into the wrong hands, hasty hands. Did you know that by the time the Fuhrer took possession of the compact, no more than two tests had been run to determine its power? The fools could only presume success and speak with limited comprehension when they told him, "Open this - only if you _must_ \- to Leave." And so it passed from the incautious to the desperate, to the cruel. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, no? Had the man called Hitler found time and cause to use the mirror, many believe he could have made the White King's war look like child's play. We cannot and dare not try to speak on this with authority. We can only be grateful that we do not have to.

And here, I will tell you why: in the days following the end of World War II, Lieutenant Aldo Raine insisted on returning to Le Gamaar. With no delusions of reconnaissance, the lieutenant and his short-lived troop came back to the theatre and found it a burnt husk, a mere ghost of itself. (Nothing like it is today, but its complete restoration is, of course, another story.) To the lessers with him, it seemed obvious that the mission had already failed, but Lieutenant Raine swore to recover his remaining men, even if remains were all he found.

It had been merely weeks since Aldo began losing soldiers under his command, but despite the relative freshness of those wounds, he had shed few tears for his fallen brethren. Never let it be said, though, that he did not feel the profound effect of these casualties. Stoicism was just his way. It was nevertheless with the heaviest of hearts that he crossed the ravaged threshold and entered the theatre's corpse.

Face to face with the aftermath, he thought he wanted to see what little that nazi _pieceashit_ Hans Landa claimed would be left of that private box. (Hitler blown to smithereens by way of Aldo's own dynamite, but in _their_ hands? Ultimately a much more fair exchange than he would know.) True to Landa's word, more than half the box was missing and the rest seemed ready to go at any moment. Missing from the tall tale, though, was the MP 40 that Aldo caught his boot on, nestled under the skeleton of a seat. More important still, next to the gun lay a pile he couldn't distinguish as burnt wood, charred fabric, or, _gahdammit_ , maybe even pulverized bone...and a perfectly intact gold chain that he extracted from it. He knew that pendant swinging from the chain on sight: a mezuzah. Donny's.

Upon reflection, Lieutenant Raine would admit that it didn't surprise him much, putting two and two together, to discover that Hitler hadn't gone down in a traiterous coward's explosion but in a shower of a hero's bullets. That should have made him proud, probably even happy for his second in command, but in that first moment gripping the necklace, he could not feel anything but the utter loss of his best friend.

In his grief, he almost missed the compact - _almost_. Knowing no more or better than its previous owner, he opened it and saw the mirror. Naturally, the mirror also saw him and although the glimpse was brief, it was enough. Snapping the compact shut again, Aldo Raine Closed The Door behind him.

You know (but he did not) that the mirror could only bring through what it reflected. The rest of the structural necessaries were brought to life by the lieutenant's memory, allowing him to walk out (but not Out) the same way he came in. On the empty street, he had neither care nor concern for the missing irrelevants he'd been assigned. He'd made no secret about preferring a solo mission. Anyone he would have chosen for company, well. Who do you think he'd come for, in the first place?

The truck that brought him to our gates would last only a short while longer, but in its bed sat a bag Aldo managed to pull through with either extremely good fortune or use of his as yet unrealized talent. Quickly rooting through its contents, he determined that he only needed two things from it and left the rest on the street. He already had everything else on his person.

Nothing apparent about the inside of the building changed, but upon reentry, the lieutenant walked on firmer floorboards, made his way up sturdier stairs. The opera box itself remained treacherous, jagged and incomplete, but collapse was no longer imminent. It was stable enough to allow Aldo to perch and work his magic.

In the Right places, at the Right times, you already know that rebuilding a life is not an impossible, sometimes not even a difficult task. The essentials vary from person to person, from situation to situation, but in the case of Sergeant Donowitz, there were comparatively few necessaries to lay out: his body (or the remains thereof, already present as the ash his necklace had been buried in), his identity (one of his dog tags, the twin of which still to this day hangs around the same chain as the lieutenant's), his religion (the mezuzah pendant), his trophies (a few German tags ripped from the necks of dead nazis - only a fraction of the collection), and his weapon (the Louisville Slugger, covered in names, splattered in grey matter). Now, these alone could have raised something formidable, likely even impressive. What made the difference, however, between ash and solidity was not exactly another necessary, but still a very fine addition: his blood, courtesy of a mutually shared rag. And not just his, but Aldo's as well, thus serving not only to add life and substance, but to indefinitely bind the one to the other. (Truly, though, we all know that the _magical_ binding was a somewhat superfluous act.)

What most find difficult to remember is that Lieutenant Raine came into our world with no knowledge of such spells. If he had known to wish for what would occur, we know that he would have, but at the time, he had no designs on raising the dead. Kneeling at the makeshift altar of someone he loved better than all others, he was forced to improvise. There was no body to wait with, to bring home. No grave to visit, no stones to leave. Hell, he didn't even know the prayers, would never have been able to pronounce the words even if Donny had ever possessed the patience to try and teach him. It was the best he could think to do, leaving what was important with whom it belonged. So he struck a match - since the impetuous _sonuffabitch_ made the choice that led to cremation instead of burial - and with it added the last ingredient. He allowed it to singe his fingertips before setting it to its purpose and left before learning what the fire would and would never reclaim.

By the time Aldo emerged from the shadows of Le Gamaar, the props and façade of familiar city surroundings had vanished. He knew France well enough to suss that _ici n'est pas là_ and knew his world well enough to surmise that might be true no matter what country he started in. Unfazed, true to his nature, he did not hesitate to collect the remaining shred of evidence from what he left behind and prepared to Move On. He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and intended to light himself a cigarette, but dropped his case before he could pull one free.

When his dry eyes returned to the the last recognizable landmark, he found - as did we - a shred of truth to validate the old nazi rumour that the Jewish American soldier who beat Germans to death with a club was not human but golem. Dragging his bat and wearing naught but the amulet his mother sent to war with him, Sergeant Donowitz stumbled out from the lobby's wreckage. (His limp was temporary, but the numbness in his left leg - a phantom limb's reasonable response to sudden resurrection after such direct damage - would continue to haunt him for ages to come.) Lieutenant Raine tossed the bag and reckoned they ought to start seeking answers instead of bothering with questions. Donny caught it and for once found himself without a knee-jerk disagreement dancing on the back of his tongue.

So now you will remember how Aldo the Apache and The Bear Jew came to know Wonderland and how we came to know them.

**Author's Note:**

> _i get the feeling if i stay with you you'll never let me go_


End file.
